The Hollow Son
League Stronghold – The Hall of Silence
Talia stood in a room lined with relics of a life that no longer existed — Peter’s childhood drawings, his training blades, the broken recorder he used to play music from foreign lands.
She sat alone in front of the shrine she had built in secret. No one else knew about it. Not the League. Not even Ra’s.
Only she came here, to remember what she destroyed.
Peter’s face stared back at her from a small holo-projector. One of the few recordings before the duel. Before the Pit. Before the silence.
He was laughing. Damian was just off-camera, yelling about losing again. Peter smiled, teeth crooked and proud.
“I won!”
“Only because you cheat!”
“Mama says it’s called improvising!”
Talia shut her eyes. The tears came too quickly to stop.
She hadn’t cried in years.
And then, she heard the door open.
Not a guard.
Not an assassin.
Peter.
No — Ash.
He stepped inside slowly, unsure why his feet had brought him here.
He looked at the shrine, the glowing hologram, the candles she had lit.
And for the first time in weeks, something in his expression cracked.
“…That boy,” he said. “Is that me?”
Talia swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice. “Yes. That was you… before the Pit.”
Peter stared at the image like it was from another lifetime.
“…He looks happy,” he whispered.
“You were.”
He turned to her, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it.
“What happened to me?”
Talia’s lip trembled.
She couldn’t lie. Not here. Not in front of the ashes of the son she’d buried a thousand times.
“I tried to save you,” she whispered. “But I failed. Over and over again.”
Peter’s hands began to tremble.
“I don’t remember him. I can’t remember me.”
She moved closer, slowly, like approaching a frightened child. “That’s not your fault. That’s mine.”
He looked at her.
And for a split second — a breath of a second — she saw her son again.
“Do you think,” he asked, voice breaking, “if I died again… I’d be him?”
Talia’s face crumpled.
“No,” she whispered. “Because you are him. Even if you don’t remember.”
Peter looked away.
“I don’t feel like him.”
⸻
Abandoned Gotham Church – That Same Night
Rain hammered the rooftop. Damian stood alone, waiting.
He knew Peter would come. Not because of strategy, or some tracking signal — but because something in his brother still remembered.
And then — he felt it.
The presence. A shadow in the storm.
Peter dropped down from the rafters in silence, eyes cold, sword already drawn.
Damian didn’t flinch.
“You came,” he said softly.
Peter said nothing.
“I saw what she’s done to you. I saw the pain. You don’t have to let it win.”
Peter’s grip tightened on the hilt. “I didn’t come here for words.”
“I don’t care,” Damian said. “You’re getting them anyway.”
Peter’s stance shifted — aggressive now. “If you’re here to save me, you’re wasting your time.”
Damian reached into his belt — not for a weapon, but a folded piece of paper. He held it up.
Peter’s eyes narrowed.
It was the drawing he made as a child — two boys, holding wooden swords, standing in front of a tree.
Scrawled in the corner: “Me + Damian = Brothers Forever.”
Peter blinked.
The rain blurred his vision. He didn’t understand why his chest hurt.
“Look at it,” Damian said. “Look. Please.”
Peter’s sword began to lower — his arm shaking.
And then — a scream tore from his throat.
He clutched his head, pain flooding him like acid. The Lazarus Pit screamed inside his blood, rejecting memory, consuming identity.
He fell to his knees.
“Peter—!”
“I’m not him!” Peter shouted. “I don’t want to be him! I just want the pain to stop!”
Damian fell beside him, grabbing his shoulders. “You are him. And I’ll carry that pain with you. I swear it.”
Peter’s eyes met his — and for a heartbeat, there he was. The boy. His brother.
“Damian…?” he whispered.
Then — a whisper from the shadows.
“Ash.”
Talia.
She had followed him.
Peter stood suddenly, like a marionette jerked back into place.
He turned away from Damian.
And just like that, the light vanished from his eyes again.
“I don’t know you,” he said.
Damian didn’t stop him.
But the sword Peter left behind did.